


Don't Look Now, But I Think We're Making Friends

by TheAvengersMascot



Series: With A Broken Heart That's Still Beating [8]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: But they probably both need some therapy, Clint is trying to be a good guy, Community: norsekink, Flashbacks, Gen, Loki Needs a Hug, Mental Instability, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Non-Graphic Violence, Panic Attacks, Past Brainwashing, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-07-14 18:44:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7185671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAvengersMascot/pseuds/TheAvengersMascot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had to happen sooner or later. Thor was a friend and a member of the team. Eventually Clint was bound to run into his brother. He was just hoping to put it off for a while. Like maybe, forever. But since when has a thing like that ever worked out for him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Look Now, But I Think We're Making Friends

**Author's Note:**

> Continuation for [this norsekink prompt.](http://norsekink.livejournal.com/13205.html?thread=32599701#t32599701)
> 
>  
> 
> _All characters belong to Marvel_

Screams.

He hears them even from far away. The sound cuts straight into his heart, filling him with hopeless dread. He runs and runs but the distance before him stretches ever farther the longer he runs. He pushes himself harder, his lungs and his legs burn from the effort, but he keeps pushing.  

A driving rain pelts his face, turning the ground beneath his feet to mud. He stumbles over and over again, each time is devastating. There isn't time for this, no time for delays. He has to reach them. 

_Maybe_ , he thinks, even though in his heart, he knows otherwise.  _Please, just let me save them this time. Just this once._

The screams fall silent and he knows his supplication is unanswered. He's too late, just like all the other times. He can see the children now, too still, too quiet. They lay side by side on the ground, both with arms outstretched. Their eyes, once so full of joy and life, point emptily up at the sky.

He falls to his knees between the two boys. Almost unconsciously, he reaches out to them, his fingers grazing the soft swell of a cheek, carding through their hair. He gathers their limp bodies into his arms and holds them tight to his chest. The scent of blood fills his nostrils. It turns his stomach and tears at his insides as if it were a living thing in his guts with talons that rips and claws up into his throat until he can hold it in no longer. 

And he screams—

Loki opens his eyes, his whole body jolting as he comes awake, the remnant of a scream still in his throat. He gasps at the weight pressing down on his chest. He can't breathe. 

He thrashes his arms and legs until he is free from the bed covers but it accomplishes little. The weight is still there, invisible and always increasing. 

He stumbles out of his bed. Around the white spots at the edges of his vision he sees familiar surroundings but he can't remember why he knows them. All he knows is that he needs an escape from the terrible pressure trying to crush him.

Staggering out through the door, he goes down corridor after corridor but they only lead to more rooms, all fully enclosed. He needs air, needs the outside but everywhere he turns all he finds are more walls, walls that seem to be growing ever closer.

His clumsy steps carry him into a narrow stairwell and it's all he can do to not run the other direction, it's so closed in, but he keeps going because he has to get somewhere else. Somewhere where everything, even the walls, aren't crushing him. 

He climbs down and the stairs empty into a large open space surrounded by glass. Surely here there must be... _there!_  A pair of doors that lead outside. He cares not what lay beyond them, only that it is some place without walls to close in on him and where he can throw off this thing that is trying to strangle the breath from his body.

Loki reaches the doors and presses his hands against them but nothing happens. He pushes with all his meagre strength but they won't give. In desperation, he pounds his fists against the glass, trying to break it. A distant voice speaks words to him but he cannot stop to decipher them. 

All he needs is this one thing, just to open the door. Why can't he do it, why?

He keeps beating his fist against the glass but it doesn't give way and his strength is waning. If he can't get out he'll surely suffocate and-

"What the hell are you doing?"

~~~|~~~

Clint leaned his head back against the matte chrome wall of the elevator and let his exhaustion pull his eyes closed. He thought after SHIELD's dismantling he'd have less work to do, fewer non-Avengers related assignments. Technically that was true. These days Coulson only called him in when he was desperate for an extra pair of hands, which wasn't all that often. Thing is, without the support of an organization as large and well-funded as the old SHIELD was, it meant Clint had little to no backup in the field so if anything went wrong, which it always did, he was pretty much on his own to get out of it. The mission he'd just returned from was supposed to be a quick snatch and grab of a former SHIELD asset who was cozying up to... let's just call them the wrong people. It was a simple extraction, or it was supposed to be.

Fifty-six hours, one stab wound, and twelve stitches later, Clint was finally back stateside riding up the lift to the Avengers' floors of Stark Tower. After the craziness he just endured, he would have loved nothing more than to be back at the farm with Laura and the kids for some peace and quiet. Well, the kids weren't exactly quiet or peaceful but he'd take their brand of excitement over fighting his way out of a certain foreign country not on speaking terms with the US, past a few dozen bad guys with Uzis, all while towing along a cranky complaining asset trying his best to escape. After that, his rambunctious children seemed practically sedate.

But he couldn't go home just yet, not when he still looked all beat to hell. While he _was_  all beat to hell. It would scare the kids and he didn't want to lie to them about what happened to make it seem less frightening. So the Tower it was.

Twenty floors into the ride, he had an idea. "JARVIS, change of plans. Take me to the party deck."

"Of course, Mister Barton."

The destination floor number on the blue holographic display changed to 81 and Clint smirked. He had plenty of beer in his apartment in the tower but after the day, or rather _days_  he'd had, he needed the good stuff. And Tony always stocked the really good stuff.

A soft chime accompanied the halt of the lift. The doors parted and Clint shuffled out and headed in the direction of the bar, eyes still half-closed and brain more than half-asleep.

"You do not have permission to access this area," JARVIS announced.

"Very funny, Jarv," Clint retorted, not in the mood for games. His head was even starting to pound.

"You do not have permission to access this area."

Clint rolled his eyes and looked up. "Seriously, what the f-"  

He choked on his words. The AI wasn't talking to him. JARVIS was talking to the person causing the thudding Clint thought was his from budding headache. The person banging his fist on the glass doors that led to the landing pad and who happened to be the same one who brainwashed him into attacking and killing his fellow SHIELD agents.

Clint's heart raced, pounding so hard he could see pulsing flares at the edges of his vision. All the time Loki was in the tower, Clint knew he was there—of course he knew, he flew the chopper that brought him—but seeing him as an unconscious patient was one thing. Seeing him up and around and... trying to escape?

"What the hell are you doing?" The question exploded from his mouth, clipped words firing off like bullets from a gun.

Loki whirled around so fast he lost his balance and fell on his ass. Green eyes found Clint, who took a step back without meaning to. 

_You have heart_

The memory of those eyes sent a jolt of fear through his body. He felt the sceptre's point touch his chest, felt his mind being twisted and turned around until his thoughts were all in line with Loki's. His own will, his entire sense of self disappeared, submerged like a stone disappearing into the sea.

"Help me," Loki gasped, one hand still pawing at the door behind him.

"Not a chance in hell," Clint spat, still trying to banish the flashback. 

"Please, I... I can't..."

Loki's voice devolved into a high-pitched wheeze and for the first time, Clint noticed Loki's other hand, the one not scratching at the door, was clutching at his own chest. His skin, always pale, was so drained of colour he almost looked like a corpse. Even his lips were tinged with white. And those eyes, eyes that haunted Clint's waking and sleeping hours for months after the battle, were wider than he'd ever seen. Wide, not with mania or madness, but abject terror. 

"Holy shit," Clint breathed. He recognized those signs, because he'd felt them himself. 

Panic.

Loki wasn't trying to escape, not in the sense that he was trying to get away from the Tower and the Avengers. He was just trying to get away from the anxiety. That was a feeling Clint understood. He knew what it was like to want to run as fast and as far as you could get, hoping maybe, just maybe, if you got far enough away it would just stop and... wait... was he sympathizing with _Loki?_  Was that even possible?

The thought that he might have something in common with Loki was almost enough to make him turn tail and run. It wasn't that long ago that a similar thought caused the longest stretch of sleepless nights he'd ever had. The fear that somehow, deep down, he wasn't all that different than Loki almost sent him over the edge. Natasha explained to him exactly why that was a ridiculous notion but even then, it still took a while to shake off. 

Now it was back, only this time it was worse because he really did share something with Loki and Natasha wasn't around to give him another kick in the head, literal or metaphorical. He didn't want to deal this. He really didn't want to deal with it.

"P-please," Loki begged, barely getting the word out in between ragged, shallow breaths. He was plainly getting desperate. And was he mouthing the word 'help?  

"Shit," Clint cursed.

Steeling himself for what he was about to do, he turned toward the landing pad doors. He knew Loki had no powers and was physically weaker than a human but even knowing there was nothing Loki could do to harm him in any way, it still took an enormous effort to uproot his feet from the floor and move. 

Muttering a long and colourful litany of swears under his breath, he went over to Loki. Loki's eyes never left him once, despite sounding like he was about to hyperventilate into unconsciousness, his lips still forming his soundless pleas for help.

Clint crouched down in front of him. "Okay, try to listen to me. I know you probably feel like you can't but you need to breathe."

Loki shook his head and reached for the door again.

"Yes, you can," Clint told him. "There's plenty of air in here, you just need to get it in there." He pointed to his chest. "Look at me and try to copy what I'm doing."

He took an exaggerated deep breath through his nose and exhaled just as loudly through his mouth. Loki didn't copy him, didn't even try to. He just kept trying to open the door behind him. After a few more demonstrative breaths went unheeded, it was obvious they needed a different strategy.

"Okay. Come on."

Clint reached out and somehow managed not to flinch when he made contact but the same couldn't be said for Loki. He jerked back so hard Clint half-expected to see a spiderweb of cracks in the glass behind his head.

"Hey, I'm not going to hurt you." He tried again and managed to latch onto Loki's arm. "Let's go."

That Loki did understand. He vehemently shook his head and tried to yank his arm free. For a supremely odd moment, Clint was reminded of his kids, they way they tried to wiggle out of his grip when they were toddlers and didn't want to be picked up. It was less amusing with Loki, however. Probably because when the kids did it, they weren't terrified out of their minds.

"Loki, come on," Clint grunted as they struggled. "I'm trying to help."

The only answer Loki gave was a shriek that was equal parts frightening and pitiful. He was a wounded animal lashing out even though he had no strength left. Clint dodged a few weak kicks while still holding on to one arm. If Loki didn't calm down soon, he was probably going to hurt himself. That is, if Clint didn't accidentally hurt him first.

"Loki? Loki, listen to me," he said firmly. "I'm going to take you outside, understand? Outside."

The kicking stopped but Loki still clung to the door with a death grip, his knuckles white.

"That's right. We can go outside," Clint told him. "But not here on the landing pad, somewhere safer. Then you can stay out there as long as you want."

Loki looked back and forth between him and the door, uncertainty clear in his eyes. Clint held his breath. If he had to force things, he would, but that could get ugly.

At long last, Loki released the door and stopped resisting long enough for Clint to pull him to his feet. He practically fell into Clint's arms, a much lighter weight than he expected. The two of them walked unsteadily across the room, staggering like a pair of drunk college freshmen after a frat party.

After a few stumbles and several close calls with gravity, they made it up the stairs to another set of doors, these ones leading out to a large, and more importantly, _enclosed_  terrace. A waist-high parapet bordered the whole thing. It wouldn't necessarily stop someone from doing a deliberate Peter Pan over the edge, especially not someone as tall as Loki, but it would keep him from plummeting the eighty stories down to his death if he tripped over his own feet.

Once they were through the doors, Loki half let go, half fell from Clint's side. He lurched toward the protective wall and leaned so far over it looked like he was about to jump. Clint nearly had a heart attack and made to grab him again but before he could, Loki leaned back and slid down to the floor. Despite being outside like he wanted all along, his breathing wasn't any better. Clint knelt down and tried again.

"Hey, look at me," he said, snapping his fingers in front of Loki's face to get his attention. "Copy me."

He demonstrated the breathing technique again and now that Loki wasn't in such a state, he listened. In time, his erratic breathing evened out and deepened. When Clint was satisfied Loki could continue on his own, he stood up again and walked a few steps away. Crossing his arms, he looked out over the city.

Manhattan had come along way since Loki's battle, thanks in no small part to generous grants and donations from Stark Industries. Some areas were still rebuilding but the evidence of the destruction was long-since cleared away. Now the city didn't look much different from the way it had before, especially at night when the few missing landmarks weren't so obvious. The scars were still there though, even if you couldn't see them. 

"Do... I know you?"

Clint looked back over his shoulder at Loki, who was staring at him with eyes narrowed with slight confusion. "You serious?"

Loki made a slight shrug that looked almost involuntary. 

"You don't remember me."

"I feel I should, but..."

"Unbelievable," Clint murmured. All this time he had to carry around what he'd done under Loki's control, it seemed the least the bastard could do was remember it happened. "Yeah," he answered flatly. "We know each other."

"Are we friends?"

"No," he said, faster and sharper than he meant to.

Loki shuddered and crossed his arms so that he was hugging his torso. "That sounds... ominous. Enemies, then?"

For a long while, Clint just stared out over the city without answering. Somewhere out there were the friends and families of the thousands who lost their lives in the Chitauri attack and he was no more than six feet from the man behind it all. A man whose plans he helped carry out and who was now weakened and totally at the mercy of others. Who didn't even remember what he did. 

Clint could change that. He could recount every horrifying detail of the destruction Loki brought to their world. He could fill up that blank slate of a memory with gruesome tales of the deaths he caused. He could do his best to make Loki suffer through the aftermath the way Clint and all his other victims did and it wouldn't even be revenge, like he fantasized about before seeing Loki's current state, just the truth. Not long ago, he might have done just that.

Now though, he was so damn tired. Tired of the guilt but even more tired of being angry. For so long he hated Loki for what he'd done and what he made Clint and the others do for him. The trouble was, hanging on to that hate was exhausting. Exhausting and a total waste. He wasn't a better person for it, wasn't any happier. Hating Loki didn't make him any better at his job or anything else. It hadn't gotten him anywhere. Pretty much all it had done was make him feel miserable.

So often it's said that time heals everything but maybe time couldn't do it alone. Maybe he had to do something too.

"No," he said after a long exhale. "We're not enemies. I don't like you much, but then I don't really like anybody." 

"How... how did you know what to do?" Loki asked haltingly, after a bit of a pause. "When I..." 

_Restraints on his wrists. Shaking his head as hard as he could. Desperately trying to banish Loki's voice from his mind._

His shoulders tightened up and there was a nauseating twist in his gut. Just when Clint thought he might actually throw up at the stir of those unpleasant memories, he thought of something else. He remembered how disorienting it was coming out of the mind-control but that was just it, he remembered. Loki was recovering from something even worse only he had no memory of what it was or why it was happening. 

He stole a look at his one-time enemy. Loki was trying to appear composed but Clint's sharp eyes saw through the façade. The way he had his skinny arms crossed over his chest was probably to hide the shaky heaving it did with each breath. It also kept his hands out of sight, hiding the way still trembled a little. His eyes were a little too wide, making it easy to read the fear and tension they held. And he was still sitting on the floor, very likely because he lacked the strength to stand.

 _And this is what you wanted_ , a condemning voice reminded Clint. _You wanted him broken._

How many times had he dreamt of being the one to twist Loki's will, to enslave him to his own. The revenge fantasies he indulged in for weeks—okay, months—after the invasion seemed not only harmless, but completely justified to him at the time. Seeing the reality in painful detail gave him no pleasure or satisfaction of any kind.  

 _No, I only thought I did_ , he answered the voice silently. Natasha was right, he needed to let himself off the hook for his vindictive thoughts because he really had no idea what he was wishing for back then. Not a goddamn clue.

While he worked all of that out, Loki was still waiting for an answer. Clint swallowed thickly and coughed to clear his throat. "I knew because I, uh, sort of went through the same thing."

It was a bit of a fib, since none of them actually knew what had been done to Loki, but he didn't need to know everything went through. The important thing was that he knew what Loki was going through now, and it was something he could help with.

Or so he thought, until he saw the hurt and more than a little offended look on his face.

"Are you mocking me?" Loki asked, his voice tight with nerves but also uncertainty. Clint couldn't help but wonder if Loki knew himself what he would do if he was being mocked. It wasn't like he was in any shape to storm off or anything.

"I wish I was," Clint replied without thinking, instantly regretting it when he realized how it must sound. "I mean, no. The... spell or whatever it was that messed with your head, something like that happened to me too."

Loki leaned his head back a bit and eyed him warily. A spark of indignation flared in Clint at the thought that Loki didn't believe him (uh, hello, which one of us is the god of lies?) but the flame sputtered out a second later. Loki was alone, terribly vulnerable, and his only company was someone who told him in no uncertain terms they weren't friends. Why should Loki trust him?

Clint rubbed one hand over the back of his neck and sighed. "I can't believe I'm about to do this." 

He went to the nearest chair and dropped himself into it. Elbows resting on his knees, he clasped his hands together between them. After taking a deep breath, he spoke.

"This guy, he used some kind of artifact on me, took control of my mind. He did it to others too. He had us give him intel on our people and their weaknesses. Then he used me to carry out his orders. I attacked my own friends. I even killed some of them. Fortunately, one of my them managed to snap me out of it but I was messed up for a long time after. Sometimes I think I still am.

"The worst part of it all was that at the time, it wasn't that I couldn't stop myself, but I didn't even try to. It didn't occur to me to try. I had my mission and I carried it out. I didn't realize what I was doing until it was all over. I killed innocent people and never thought twice about it." 

He didn't look at Loki until he finished talking and when he did, he still saw no recognition in his face. For all he knew, Clint was talking about some other would-be conqueror of Earth. The wariness was gone too, but now his lips were parted, his mouth having fallen open in surprise, and he was looking at Clint with rapt attention. He stared for so long that Clint had to look away again before he started to squirm.

At length, Loki broke the silence. In a voice so low it was almost a whisper, he asked, "Do... do you get them as well?"

"Get what?"

"The dreams."

Images of death and destruction flooded Clint's mind only in them, he was the one responsible, not Loki, and knew full well what he was doing. He saw Manhattan reduced to rubble, saw himself standing over the broken bodies of the team. And what he did to Natasha-

He gave his head a hard shake. The images faded, leaving him with the sight of the Manhattan skyline. "Yeah," he said tersely. "I get the dreams."

"I dreamt of children." Loki's face took on a faraway haunted look. 

Clint had those dreams too, dreams where he saw himself cut down children like his own without compunction.

"I tried to save them, I swear I did. But I was... I was too late."

That caught Clint's attention. He's expected Loki's dreams to be similar to his but it didn't seem like they were. He looked over to Loki. The grief in those once piercing green eyes was so deep and profound it left him feeling like he'd been kicked in the stomach.

"I heard them scream," Loki went on, his voice wavering. "I heard and I ran, but I was too far. They..." He trailed off as tears began falling from his eyes.

"Who were they?"

"I don't know," he choked out. "I just... I was supposed to protect them... I failed them and I can't so much as remember their names."

Loki drew his knees up to his chest and buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs and Clint felt a bit helpless at the sight. He had no idea how to console Loki over an event that he knew nothing about. It might not even be something that happened for real, although the longer he watched Loki crying, the less likely that seemed. Offering physical comfort was another option but he was not even close to being ready for that. Still, he felt like he should do _something_.

He got up from the chair and crossed over to Loki's side of the terrace. He sat down beside him, close enough for their shoulders to touch. The gesture was a tiny bit pathetic but hey, baby steps right? Besides, he didn't know what he was comforting Loki for or if Loki was the kind of person who welcome more contact than that when he was upset. So he just sat there, hoping that Loki would understand he wasn't alone.

"How could I forget their names?" Loki wept.

"Look," Clint said. "I don't pretend to understand all this magic stuff, but I know a lot about head injuries. Any trauma can wreak all sorts of havoc with a brain. I'm sure you didn't forget them, not on purpose anyway. Maybe when you're a bit more healed it'll come back to you."

"Even if I remember, it won't change anything. They will still be dead and it will still be my fault."

Clint almost rolled his eyes. Of course Loki couldn't make it easy for him, could he? "Then you'll have to deal with it."

It sounded harsher than he meant it to and he knew it. Clint glanced sideways and saw something he could never in a million years have imagined on Loki's face—wounded puppy eyes. The worst part was he was dead certain Loki wasn't putting it on, he was really hurt. 

 _Why couldn't Loki have his meltdown in front of someone else?_  Clint thought, frustrated with himself. _Someone who would know that telling someone with a traumatic brain injury, PTSD, probable depression, and god knows what else to just 'deal with it' wasn't the best idea._

"Sorry, that didn't come out right," he apologized. "What I meant was that some things you never get over. They never stop hurting. It sucks but in time you learn to live with it."

If he could learn to live with the fact that he not only helped facilitate an alien invasion that killed thousands but personally murdered fellow SHIELD agents, surely that was proof you could learn to live with anything.

"How?" Loki asked, still with the wide weepy eyes.

Clint had to think for a minute before answering. "I don't know, really. You don't always notice it happening. Somehow it just becomes another part of you and one day you realize you don't mind carrying it around with you."

Loki finally took pity on him and dropped his puppy eyes down. He straightened his legs again and let his hands rest on his lap. "I don't know if I can bear it.

"Sure you can," Clint said, surprising himself that he meant it. "If I know anything about you, it's that you're one determined SOB. You can survive just about anything and you never let anything get it your way when you set your mind on doing something."

It was beyond strange listing those attributes as though they were positive things when they were the same ones they cursed during the invasion. From the confused knit of his brow, Loki thought it was strange too.

"That sounds rather more like my brother than me," he said.

Clint snickered. "Yeah, well the truth is the two of you are a lot more alike than you realize. Or are willing to admit." 

"That sounds dreadful. How do you stand us?"

"Nah, you're not so bad."

Loki cocked an eyebrow. "So, you're a liar."

"What?"

"You said you don't like anyone."

Clint gaped at him. "That's a joke. You actually made a joke."

Loki looked away and down but not fast enough to hide the little smirk that turned up one corner of his mouth. Clint shook his head with a grin. Just a few weeks ago he would have rather crawled naked over broken glass than be in the same room as Loki but it turned out to be not as horrible as he thought it would. Though if he was being honest, the fact that Loki might forget the whole thing ever happened might have made things easier.

"I'm sorry," Loki suddenly declared, serious again. "You rendered me aid and I have not so much as asked your name."

It took Clint a beat to get over the surrealness of hearing Loki apologize to him. "Clint. Clint Barton."

Loki wrinkled his nose. "You do not look like a Clint."

"I'll pass that along to my mother," he replied, more than a little amused. "You can always call me Hawkeye instead. It's sort of a nickname."

"Hawkeye," Loki repeated slowly, testing out the word. "That is better. I like it."

And that was the moment Clint's brain gave up. Apparently there was a finite limit to the amount of bizarre he could tolerate in a single conversation and Loki approving of his code name was the straw that broke the camel's back.

"God, I need a drink," he huffed. "If I go inside for a bit, will you be okay here?"

"I believe the episode is passed," Loki replied, though the dark cloud that seemed to pass over his face suggested it might be wise for Clint to hurry.

He got to his feet only to feel his exhaustion, forgotten when confronted with the sight of Loki, come crashing back over him. Dragging limbs that felt like they each had hundred pound barbels attached to them, he headed inside and over to the bar. There were a bunch of bottles on a shelf at the back of the bar, including several scotch bottles, but they were collector's items. As in not for drinking. For himself, Clint didn't understand the point of shelling out hundreds of thousands of dollars for a bottle of sixty-four year old Dalmore or some such that no one was ever going to drink. How would you know it's even any good? But then he wasn't a billionaire and since the reason he was even there was to mooch off of one, he probably shouldn't judge. 

After rooting around behind the counter for a minute, he found and poured himself a more than generous serving of 25 year old Macallan. He made his way back to the terrace where he found Loki fast asleep. It seemed he hit his limit too.

"JARVIS, wake up Thor, would you?"

"Of course, sir."

In half the time it took him to find the good scotch, the elevator chimed and Thor burst into the room, wearing a rumpled t-shirt and sweats and sporting an impressive case of bedhead. Clint waved the big guy over to the terrace.

"Where is he? Is he all right?"

"He's fine. Asleep, actually." He pointed to where Loki was dozing. "He had a nightmare, spooked him pretty bad. He came down here looking for a way out."

"To jump?" Thor asked, horrified.

"No. God, no. I think he just wanted some air."

He didn't look convinced but Clint let it lie. As familiar as he might be with what panic attacks look like, Clint doubted Thor knew what they felt like from the inside. Sometimes they made you feel like you were dying but most people didn't actually want to die because of it. He stayed silent though while Thor knelt down beside his brother and checked him over.

"Did he say anything to you?"

Clint nodded. "Yeah. He said he had a dream about some children he tried to save but couldn't. Sounds like it really bothers him and... what, why are you looking at me like that?"

Thor was staring at him with an expression somewhere between shocked and awestruck. "He spoke of his dreams?"

"Uh, yeah. Is that unusual?"

"Yes. When he is lucid, he refuses to speak of them and when he is not..."

Yeah, Clint saw what the 'not' version was. "He wasn't totally with it tonight either. He didn't remember me at all."

Thor got to his feet and grasped Clint's shoulders with both hands, eyes boring into his. "Please, tell me. What did he say?"

"Not a lot, just that there were some children he tried to rescue or something but he got there too late. And that he couldn't remember their names."

At first, Thor looked confused. A few seconds later he winced and the confusion was replaced with grief. He let go of Clint and turned Loki's direction again. 

"Oh, my brother," he sighed.

"So it happened? For real?" Clint asked, a sinking feeling in his gut. Whatever his feelings were toward Loki, and they were a complicated mess, the thought of kids being hurt or killed was never less than horrible.

"It happened," Thor replied with a nod.

"Who were they?"

"His children."

" _His_  children? No one ever mentioned he had kids."

"Because they died. Many, many of your years ago. He shouldn't have..." Without bothering to finish his thought, Thor stooped to pick up his brother. "Thank you for looking after him."

"Uh, yeah, no problem," Clint said awkwardly, thrown by Thor's sudden dismissal.

Thor and his sleeping brother disappeared into the elevator, leaving Clint by himself on the terrace. Alone at last, he tried to do what he first came up there to do, relax and enjoy some really good scotch. He couldn't quite get comfortable though. Something about Thor's story didn't sit right with him. Remembering that the Norse myths said something about Loki's children, he pulled out his phone and started Googling.

Minutes later, he only just stopped himself from chucking the phone off the terrace. Even if the story was embellished over time, if there was even a hint of truth to the one where Loki's sons were killed to punish him, Clint was going to have some very special arrows waiting for the next Asgardian to cross his path.

He tried to tell himself that it probably wasn't true, that they were called 'myths' for a reason but, well, let's just say Loki wasn't the only one to have bad dreams that night.

~~~|~~~

Clint pounded on the door to Thor and Loki's apartment. Yes, it wasn't even seven a.m. but he couldn't wait anymore. Surprisingly, when Thor opened the door, he was dressed in regular clothes, not sleepwear, and his hair was much neater than the dishevelled mop he wore when he retrieved Loki from the party deck just a few hours before.

"Were you already up?" Clint asked, forgetting for a second his reason for being there.

"Yes. It was an early morning for us," Thor replied with a glance back over his shoulder. "Is everything all right Barton? You seem troubled."

"I have to know," he insisted. "I have to know what happened to Loki's kids, and I swear to god, if it involves entrails and snake venom-"

"Peace, Barton," Thor interrupted, stepping out into the hall and closing the door most of the way behind him. "I know to what you are referring and nothing of the like has ever been done in Asgard."

"So how did they die," Clint pressed.

Thor heaved a heavy sigh, sounding like he was feeling every day of his one thousand-plus years. "A band of marauders found and slaughtered them in the woods where they lived. Their killers had made their way through the region, laying waste to all that was in their path and the children..."

"I get it. Wrong place, wrong time." He couldn't quite decide if a random act of violence was any better or worse than a deliberate act to target Loki like in the myth. At that point, they both seemed equally awful. "What about the mother?"

"The same."

He shook his head in tired frustration. "You know, for some reason I thought knowing the truth would make me feel better."

"I'm sorry it did not," Thor replied with genuine regret.

Clint started to walk away but stopped. "Loki was really upset he couldn't remember their names. You should tell him. It might help."

The smile that spread across Thor's face was a sad one. "I wish I could, but I don't know them."

"What do you mean you don't know them?"

"I called them Loki's children but in truth, they weren't of his blood. I don't know what their true connection was."

"How the hell could you not know?"

"My brother has ever been secretive," Thor explained. "Ever since childhood he hid a great many things from us. The boys were another. The first I knew of them was when I saw their dead bodies in Loki's arms."

Clint felt his eyebrows furrow. "Thor, how do you know they weren't his children if you didn't even know they existed?"

Thor gave him another sad smile. "Our mother had certain... insight into such matters. She told me they were not. But if she knew anything more, she never spoke of it."

"I still don't get it," Clint told him bluntly. "How could you not know anything about this? I mean, if my brother showed up with a couple of dead kids, you can be damn sure I'd ask some questions."

"You mistake my ignorance for a lack of interest, Barton," Thor returned. "The truth is I did question Loki, just as you would have done, but he wouldn't speak on it. He was distraught, more than I ever imagined possible. A part of my brother died that day and what remained could not bear the pain of the loss. For weeks he neither slept nor ate. Then one day he disappeared and not even Heimdall could see him. After weeks of scrying, our mother found him. She went alone to retrieve him and upon their return, warned me never to speak of the children in front of my brother again."

"Why?"

"I know not. But she was..." he hesitated, shaking his head. "I was never so much as tempted to disobey her in this matter. To this day, I don't know all that happened, only that Loki was much changed after."

Thor looked like he was about to say more but before he could, Loki called his name from the other side of the door.

"Forgive me, Barton, but I must be getting back."

"Don't worry about it," Clint said. "I'm sure he's in rough shape after last night."

Thor's face fell even more. "I had hoped his conversation with you might be a sign of progress but when he woke, he was gone again."

The crestfallen look on his face was so profound, Clint had to look away. It was worse than watching him escort his own brother to prison. Of course, back then he barely noticed Thor's dismay while he internally gloated over Loki's defeat, still seething with anger over everything that happened. He saw it now, though. Thor was hanging on by a thread and it wouldn't take much to unravel it.

"I'm sure he'll come around," he told Thor, surprised to find he not only meant it, but hoped for it. "These things take time."

Thor didn't say anything, just nodded. Since Clint really wasn't that good at the whole pep talk thing, he didn't try to fake it and say more, not when saying the wrong thing could sever that thread Thor was hanging on to. 

With a half-mumbled, 'See you later' he started to walk away. He only made it a few steps when he heard a new voice behind him.

"Hawk."

Clint hesitated.

"Hawk," the voice repeated.

He looked over his shoulder. Thor was frozen in the threshold of the door and just beyond him stood Loki with an arm outstretched and a finger pointed at Clint.

"Hawk," Loki said again, somehow oblivious how flabbergasted he made them. He just kept pointing.

Clint hadn't spent a lot of time—or really _any_ —with Thor and Loki after bringing them to the tower so he didn't know all the details of Loki's condition. What he did know, was that when he was 'gone' as Thor put it, the only thing he ever said was his brother's name and he sure as hell wasn't comfortable around anyone else.

Until now, apparently.

While Clint was busy trying to figure out what was happening, Loki started waving his hand in a 'come here' gesture while Thor just looked back and forth between them, dumbfounded.

"Barton," he said in a hushed voice, like he was afraid of breaking the spell. "Would... would you..."

He made a similar gesture to Loki's. Clint had no choice but to obey, not when confronted with the naked hope in Thor's eyes. If this was what would help him keep going, how could Clint say no?

As he walked the few steps back, he had the strange experience of seeing the person who up until very recently, he hated more than anyone in the universe, smile at him. A real smile, the kind made of innocent joy, rather than malicious glee. Even stranger, it made him happy to see it. Clint tried to convince himself he was just glad that Thor was finally getting that sign of progress he was so hoping for, but he didn't quite succeed.

He crossed the threshold into the apartment and Thor let the door close behind him. Loki lunged at Clint then, but only to take his hand and drag him over to the couch. Some cartoon that looked vaguely familiar was playing on the tv. It must be something his kids watch. Loki dropped onto the couch and pulled Clint down beside him. He shot a helpless look at Thor, who only shrugged in return. Loki didn't notice either of them with all of his attention focused on the tv show.

"Well, all right then," Clint said, settling in to watch with him.

He told himself that he did it to make Thor happy and to keep Loki from having another freak-out, but that didn't really explain why he stayed for several hours, long past when Loki dozed off leaning against his shoulder. It was mid-afternoon when he left, by which time Thor served both breakfast and lunch and Clint discovered their resident thunder god was a surprisingly competent cook. Also to his surprise, Loki was reluctant to see him go. Clint had to promise to visit again just to get the sullen look off his face. Through it all, Thor was beaming at them with a smile so wide it made Clint's cheeks ache in sympathy and he worried Thor might be setting himself up for disappointment. Mental trauma is an unpredictable beast, after all. Loki could so easily backslide again. For all their sakes, he hoped it didn't happen.

Making his way down from the apartments, he passed through the common area on his way to the fitness room. His last mission had far too much in the way of close quarters combat and it left him with the archery equivalent of an itchy trigger finger. A bit of target practice always sorted that out.

Bruce and Tony were seated on one of the common room's several couches. A holographic display of something Clint didn't recognize floated in the air in front of them while they took turns poking it in various places. They were bickering about something like an old married couple but stopped when they saw him.

"So, you finally escaped the Brodinsons, huh?" Tony said by way of greeting.

"Spying on me again, Tony?"

"Right, because between saving the world, inventing new sources of clean energy, and running a multinational, multi-billion dollar company, I have nothing better to do than keep tabs on you in your depressingly mundane down time."

"Hey, if you want to see me naked that bad-"

"All right, children," Bruce piped up. He explained, "JARVIS told us where you were. He mentioned you came back last night. Looks like your simple mission wasn't so simple."

"This?" Clint said, pointing to the rainbow of bruises on his face. "I've had worse."

"I don't doubt it. Seriously though, you okay? I mean, you were more than 48 hours overdue." For a guy who wasn't an MD, he sure kept a close eye on the team's health like he was.

"Nothing that won't heal," Clint told him. 

"What about the other thing?"

"What other thing?"

Bruce took off his glasses and started cleaning them with the hem of his shirt. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but that was the first time you've spent time with Thor and Loki since they got here. How was that?"

His concern sounded genuine and though Tony was smirking, Clint could see a hint of worry in his eyes as well.

"Not as bad as I thought it would be," Clint answered. "When he's not trying to take over the world, Loki is... weirdly not awful."

The lines around Tony's eyes eased. "High praise, considering the source. Thought you were one of the 'hate him 'til one of us dies' types."

Clint shrugged, though in his mind he agreed with Stark. He never thought it would happen either. "Yeah, well, someone once told me that hate is too strong an emotion to waste on someone you don't like."

Bruce and Tony exchanged a look then, one that was rather conspiratorial. When they looked back at him, there was no denying the amusement in their expressions.

"Okay," he said. "What's with the faces?" 

"Somebody told you that?" Bruce asked, with a wobble in his voice that suggested he was trying to hold back laughter.

"Yeah. Why?"

"Who was it?" Tony asked, his poker face a bit better than Bruce's but not by much.

"Natasha, and I'll ask again, why?"

"Nothing. It's just..."

Clint rolled his eyes. "Just what? Spit it out, already."

Tony broke first. "It's a line from Doctor Who."

"You're hilarious," Clint deadpanned. 

"He's not actually kidding," Bruce put in. "This time."

Clint looked back and forth between them. He wouldn't put it past Stark to yank his chain but Banner didn't typically join in his nonsense. "She said it was something her mother used to say."

"I'm sure she did say it," Tony agreed, words dripping with sarcasm. "If she was a fan of long-running British sci-fi shows."

Both Bruce and Tony began giggling like a pair of schoolgirls at the way Clint just stood there, mouth agape while he tried to find words. All he could come up with was a lame protest of, "But... she doesn't even watch that show."

"Yes, she does," Banner told him. "Check her Netflix history."

It was at that point that Clint started feeling his face grow hot. "So... so are you telling me I just made up with Loki... because of a tv show?"

"I think, maybe you did," Bruce said. Tony was laughing too hard to contribute.

Clint stalked away without saying a word.

"Where are you going?" Bruce called after him.

"Firing range," he answered without turning around. "I need to shoot something."

He crossed the room to the elevator and stepped inside. He was about to tell JARVIS his destination when he had a thought he knew would get Tony's blood going.

"Oh, by the way, Stark. You're out of scotch."

Over at the couch, Tony replied without looking. "Which one?"

"A Dalmore. Had the number 64 on the label."

Tony's head whipped around. His face had gone a little pale. "The Trinitas? You drank my Dalmore Trinitas?"

Clint pretended to think. "Yeah, I think that was the name. To be honest, I wasn't all that impressed. It was a little too dry for my taste, but whatever. Take me to the gym floor, JARVIS."

Just as the doors started to close, he saw Tony take a flying leap over the couch and start running toward the elevator, shouting his name. Clint just smiled and waved.

The doors closed, blocking out Tony's outraged face and showing him his own reflection smiling back at him. He kept smiling. Now he just had to figure out a way to get back at Natasha.

**Author's Note:**

> So I managed to make it only four months between updates instead of ten, so progress, I guess. Yay.
> 
> This fic is listed as complete and I'm going to leave it that way for now but in the future, as I decide how Loki is going to interact with more members of the Avengers, I'm going to add those stories here as new chapters. So if you like this one and want more like it, you might want to bookmark or subscribe.
> 
> Now for some trivia: Dalmore Trinitas is an extremely rare bottle of scotch as only three bottles were ever made. Hence the name. 
> 
> I used [this](http://crisis-on-infinite-cosms.tumblr.com/post/56073310338/93-floors-located-at-200-park-avenue-at-east-45th) as a reference for the layout of Stark Tower. Someone made it up for use in RP'ing but I thought it was a handy reference. I have no idea if there actually is a terrace anywhere on the building but this is my AU and I'll put a terrace out there if I want to.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading. If you have any thoughts, I'd love to hear them. You can also come say Hi to me on tumblr at [ theclassicblunders](http://theclassicblunders.tumblr.com).


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